Ladybird (5 page)

The water was cold and sent a chill over her as she tried not to envy old Larcha. How simple it would all have been if only she might have died, too!

When the water grew too cold for her to stand it any longer, she stepped out upon the bank and ran to get warm but soon took to the stream again, knowing that if the threat of following her with the hounds should be made good, it would be harder for the dogs to trace her scent.

Later in the night, when the little silver boat of a moon hung low and seemed to ripple at her from the water like a tiny lamp, she found a fallen tree lying across the stream in a shallow place. Its top branches were touching the bank she was on, and its roots had been torn from the opposite bank and were standing high in the air like a wall. It might be dangerous, but she decided to cross on that tree.

Tucking her scant skirts around her, she waded out as far as she dared, for the current was stronger here, and then clutched for the topmost branches.

The water was cold and black, but looking behind, she seemed already very far from shore. So, taking firm hold of the branches, she pulled herself along, slipping and almost falling, until she could clamber into the treetop and so work her way along the trunk until she came to the rampart of roots towering above her in the dark, like an impassable wall. Had she been a fool to try to get across, she wondered.

She sat down on the tree trunk to get her breath and examine the precious woolen bag that she had taken the precaution to strap high on her shoulders before entering the stream. It was not very wet. Only the least little bit on the lower edge. Her precious Bible and the things her mother had put in it would be safe. That was something to be thankful for, at least.

She sat down to rest for a moment on the trunk of the tree before she would explore what was behind that wall of gnarled roots and mud and moss. The dim bank of the other side of the stream seemed not far away. Could she climb over the roots and get to the land, or would the water be too deep for wading?

Across the stream lay the darkness from which she had come. There was no gleam of light anywhere. The cabin on the mountain where her drunken enemies slept was in darkness. She could not even locate it. She seemed to have been traveling for years and to have come miles and miles, but her knowledge of the wilderness and the vast open country told her that the cabin was probably not far away. In the daylight she would be able to see it easily. She had never been so far as this before. Her mother had always limited her going. But the old mountains were over there, the mountains she knew so well. Her journey would be a matter of years, perhaps, before she got to a place that would really seem safe. With a feeling of hopelessness, she turned and faced the task before her.

She found the roots above her hard to climb. They had been worn smooth and slippery by much water before they were uprooted. But at last, after several failures, she found a place where she could work herself around, clinging carefully from root to root, until she had gained the black shadow behind them. The bag on her back hindered her and took her strength; the roots were uncertain and gave way in the most unexpected manner, switching her face and sometimes proving stubborn where they should have yielded. When she gained the spot where she could look across the blackness that separated her from the shore, the bank seemed steep and abrupt and the water black as night. If it had not been for the little stars reflected in its darkness she could not have told whether it was water or mere black space. Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the blackness that reigned behind those roots, and she saw that the other end almost touched the shore with one big root, heavier than the rest. A little star was twinkling right beneath it and plainly showed a big flat stone where one could step.

Softly, cautiously, she put an investigating foot down and tested the water under her. If she could only swing herself by these wiry old roots over toward that stone, she could get up to the bank, she was sure.

The first root she tried snapped and left her with only a single hold; her foot went down several inches into soft spongy mud, but she clutched for another root and caught it and was finally able to get a footing farther on. At last she stood on the stepping-stone and caught at the bending branches of another tree that arched over the water.

It was a hard, dangerous climb even then, for her feet were wet and the bank was slippery and steep. Moreover, her pack had become painfully heavy, and its straps cut deep into her weary shoulders. When she scrambled at last to the top, she had only strength left to draw her feet after her and sink down where she lay to get her breath. Now that she was safe across the water it did not seem to matter. There might be dangers twice as great as those she had escaped, but her tired eyelids dropped over her eyes, and she lay there panting and disheartened, wondering how she was to go on. Suddenly the memory that her mother was gone surged deep into her soul, and everything was for the moment forgotten in the overwhelming realization. Nothing mattered but to weep her young soul out.

It seemed the more bitter to her that she had not been able to attend her beloved to her final resting place. She longed inexpressibly to go back and make sure that all was safe and right, but that was impossible. There would be no escape if she did, for that would be the spot where the men would look for her first. She shuddered at the thought of being found there, at the possibility of the terrible things they would say. The harsh, unfeeling words of Brand when he had discovered that her mother was dead had seemed to her more cruel than all the rest. Her soul writhed at the memory. Out of all proportion to her other injuries this seemed to loom as the one unforgiveable thing.

Silent sobs racked her weary young frame as she lay there under the low spreading tree. She dared not cry aloud, but there was some relief in letting the tears come.

A little stir high up over her head made her suddenly start and sit up, looking around her in the darkness. Was someone watching her? Had perhaps the men traced her to this refuge, too?

But though she listened, she heard only a little scratching of tiny forest feet, some bird or chipmunk perhaps in the branches, and the soft sighing of winds stirring a twig against a limb. It was very dark here, for the foliage grew thick and heavy and the night seemed to have settled closer. Peering hard she could discern nothing but tree trunks and concluded she must be in the woods. This would be a good place to sleep, but she dared not sleep. The night would be all too short for putting distance between herself and her enemies, without stopping for sleep. She would stretch out for just a few minutes to relax her tired limbs, and then she must grope on. It would not do to be getting out in the open at daylight. She must get somewhere under cover by dawn lest the men be out after her early. They would want their breakfast and would be impatient at not finding her back. No, she had no time to waste resting. So in a very short time she gathered herself up, re-slung her pack on her back, and started groping on through the woods.

The trees fringed the riverbank thickly here, and she dared not stay near the edge where it was lighter because the bank was steep and she was in danger of slipping down into the water. She must penetrate the woods and get to the other side, if possible before daybreak.

Looking up occasionally where the trees were not quite so close together, she could see the distant stars, but they seemed very far away. If she only had a match or a candle! Yet she would not have dared light it if she had, she reasoned, lest someone see her and hinder her going. No, the dark was a friend, for God was in the dark, and He would show her the way.

Resting her soul in this thought, she groped on from tree to tree, sometimes stumbling over a root, often coming in sharp contact with brush that scratched her face, clung to her garments, and left thorns in her hands.

It seemed that she had already been hours in that forest when she suddenly came to a break in the darkness, a soft lightening of the blackness that seemed almost bright in contrast.

Cautiously she went forward, for now she sensed some soft sound ahead of her, something more than the night wind. Nearer and nearer she drew to the sound and streak of light, until suddenly she was on the edge of the woods and the sound was as of a giant breathing. She stood quite still, steadying herself by a tree, her own breath withheld, and listened.

Yes, decidedly, that was breathing!

Had some human being camped just ahead of where she stood? Perhaps there was more than one person. Perhaps she had come on some of her enemies resting in their search until daylight.

With her hand on her heart she stood trying to still its wild thumping and to get strength to go on, forward or back, she could not tell which. At last she began to steal cautiously around the tree and make her way slowly along the edge of the wood, keeping near to the clearing because it was easier going and not so pitchy black.

As a misty dawn began to break, she saw that the open space was like a wide valley with dark mountains beyond, reaching up to the vault of dim stars. If she could only get across that valley perhaps she would be out of the region of danger. That would be wonderful! And yet, there might be people camped here who would see her as the lights grew stronger, and she might not be able to get to hiding before the morning really came. But there was danger anywhere, and she must take a risk. Also, she was burning with thirst and there ought to be water in the valley. Of course she was faint with hunger, too, but she must not think of stopping to eat. If she could only get far enough away so that word of her would not travel back, then she could take her own time. But now she must press on.

Ahead of her under the shadow of a tree that stood out a little way from the rest, she saw a dark outline, seemingly an outcropping of rock. She would go and sit down upon it for a moment and rest. Her limbs were so tired they trembled under her. And now she noticed of course they were rocks. She must get away from the idea that they were people camped here. What a foolish idea! People would not scatter around like this to camp.

Then she heard the soft breathing again. Could that be a man wrapped in his blanket, sleeping under the stars?

To her right came more breathing and a movement, as if someone stirred in his sleep. Startled, she turned her eyes back toward the woods, which were not far behind her, and imagined she saw something moving there and heard more breathing. It certainly sounded like human beings.

In utter panic she turned, she knew not which way, and started to run, but she caught her foot in the long grass and fell headlong. Her hands went wildly out to save herself and came in a startling contact with warm, soft, living fur!

S
he was too frightened and stunned to think, and things began happening right away.

To begin with, the rock that was covered with fur gave a snort, and a quick investigating nose came cold and wet to her face. There came a leap and a bellow, a rending of the earth close to her, a blinding shower of dirt and grass in her face, a sound of prancing and a great body hurled about.

Suddenly all around her other dark shapes came alive and reared and roared and bellowed, and she knew what she had done. This was a herd of wild cattle and she had trespassed into their territory. In a moment more, if it were daylight, she would be torn and trampled to a horrible death. They were preparing to stampede. She knew enough of cattle raising to understand their habits. She was as good as dead now if they could see her.

But the darkness hung like a curtain between them and her.

The creature she had fallen against had backed off and was snuffing around uncertainly, with angry roars, sleep and mist in its eyes, making it very plain that once it got a sight of this unknown enemy in the dark, there would be a quick ending.

Fraley held her breath and lay quite still for an instant, and the big steer turned and backed off again, facing away from her. Could she make an escape? Would her limbs obey her? If she could only get to a tree! Now she must move, while its back was turned. Those other dark shapes were forming in a mass. She could hear an ominous bewildered roar. If they should stampede! If they should turn this way!

With a quick catlike stealth, she lifted her body an inch or two from the earth and began to creep on hands and feet, inch by inch, away from the dark creature. Its own bellowing drowned the soft sound of her movement at first, and then as she grew bolder and moved faster, something clinked in the bag that hung across her shoulders as it swung down and hit the ground in her turning. Whatever it was, the creature about-faced and gave another roar. Trembling so that she seemed almost paralyzed, Fraley sprang to her feet and fled blindly in the dark.

The race was on. The enemy sounded the battle cry, and a stamping of hoofs told her that she was pursued. A thousand giants, breathing hard, came behind her, a living, angry, fiery tornado. Was she going to the woods, or out into the open? There was so much dirt in her eyes she could not make it out. Was she going to fall again? Would she never reach
anywhere?

It was at this instant that her outstretched hand touched the trunk of a small sapling, and straining her eyes ahead, she saw that the darkness of the woods was just before her. But how was she to find a tree to climb in the dark? Could she escape from those angry, flying creatures if they ventured in among the trees?

The roar behind her now was deafening, and they were coming full toward her. Could they see her? Did they have eyes that could see in the dark like a cat?

An instant more and she swung herself under the low branches of another tree and gained a footing inside the darkness. Sharply she turned to her right and dashed in and out among the trees, slid behind a tall old oak, out of breath, her heart feeling as if it would burst with fright and exertion.

She peered around her tree and saw that the cattle had paused, baffled at the barrier of trees for the moment. But she dared not trust to that. They were still making angry sounds, a mob cry. Perhaps they were consulting how they might find her and vent their anger for their rude awakening. She had heard awful tales about those who had got the ill will of a herd of cattle.